I couldn’t care less about Halloween this morning. In twenty minutes, members of the Regional Council will sit down to a meeting. Among other agenda items, labelled with maximum innocuity: what happens next at Sivens (not that the word appears in so many letters). Reps from all sides of the debate have mounted ludicrous verbal barricades ranging from operatic excess to flat-out lying with solemn faces. They have done so at the local, regional and national level. Meanwhile, authorities give three different versions of how a young man died during clashes with gendarmes who weren’t supposed to be on the site that weekend. Peaceful demonstrators get truncheoned, caught between a minority aggressive fringe and gendarmes armed for battle.
Previous experiences with the political process don’t leave me filled with optimism on the ultimate outcome of this latest yawning gap between official doctrine and the reality of the world outside the scripted and choreographed performances in front of the cameras.
With things to do, story to move forward, paperwork, meetings, and fingers that grow numb if I sit and type in my apartment. Winter’s coming. I look at my tall and drafty French doors and the condensation on them . Low whimper. Maybe I’ll move my laptop and my person over to the library. Get myself locked in at night? Hm, there’s a thought.